I arrived in town late Saturday, and worked all day Sunday unpacking decor for our new company office in the Huntington bldg downtown nextdoor to the Pru, having been recruited by my daughter Julie who works in our art department. That made me miss all the DRS socializing, for which I apologize .. I would like to have met & said hi to everyone.
The whole town was excited and positive about the race. I asked an old black lady in the subway for some help figuring out how to transfer from the blue line to the orange line, or the green one, or something. She replied "You're in town for the race, aren't you?", proceeded to get off the subway with me, walked up the stairs with me, pointed me to the next train, found someone who was getting on it and made them agree to tell me how to do the next transfer .. and then went scurrying off to hook up with her own transportation. That was pretty typical of the hospitality and good feelings for my entire stay.
Monday, Monday. Saw Dennis Halpin briefly in the food&water tent at the athlete's village. Didn't feel very good for the start .. tired, my nose was running, and my feet hurt. A knee injury from February overtraining was mildly throbbing. All these minor warning signals were drowned out in the excitement, naturally. I had fashioned a pastel warmup outfit for the start from padded wrapping paper leftover from Julie's artwork shipment, and got some nice compliments .. "Hey, it's the brown bag man .. he probably brought lunch." Yes, we earth-tone people know what we like; you flashy garbage-bag folks can go your own way.
After trampling every flowerbed in Hopkinton, and peeing behind every other hedge, we started. Two girls wearing handmade T-shirts saying "Hibiscus Chicks" asked me to take pictures for them since I'm tall and could hold their little camera up over the crowd, so I did. After we'd gone a couple of miles, I asked them if they wanted some more shots of themselves running together, and ran along behind them taking pictures of the two of them with their matching T-shirts, fake hibiscus petals fluttering in the breeze. This part of the course was like a ski-jump. If I had a strategy to take it easy, it didn't work. Downhill at 90 miles an hour.
A lot of runners had their names marked on their arms or legs, so people could cheer for them, or other runners could call them by name. Everyone was very friendly. A woman named Liz (well, maybe it was just her thigh that was named Liz) introduced herself and ran with me for a couple of miles, talking about San Diego. A little later an old Irish guy started telling me what a good time he was having, even though (he made sure I understood) he could be running 15 minutes faster if he wanted.
A tall skinny woman named Mary from Ohio wanted me to know it was her first Boston, and we ran together a few miles. I needed to spit a lot because of my runny nose, though I tried to be polite about it, and this seemed to encourage Mary to do likewise .. I think she liked running with me because she felt better about spitting when she needed to. I had a little spell of asthma and Mary ran off while I slowed and wheezed a bit.
I never thought I would see 3,000 young female tonsils lined up in a row inside gaping mouths, especially not screaming cheers for me, but that was Wellsley. I ran along the right side of the road, high fiving everyone and taking the full brunt of the vocal energy right in the face. It was, well, distracting, anyway, and very encouraging. I forgot, for awhile, that I wasn't doing very well and feeling more like a nap than finishing more than half of a marathon. After taking a particularly enthusiastic slap from a very hearty young lady (probably a rower) I realized my hands and shoulders were starting to feel worse than my feet and legs.
OK, that's over, my ears will ring & sing for the rest of the race. But the crowds were very raucous the whole way, amazing for a mid-packer like me (my eventual 3:45+ was almost exactly the median time, according to alert DRS statisticians). As I plod along, I try to get used to people leaping over barricades to yell "You rule!" or "You're awesome!", only to be subdued and pushed back off the course by harried race marshals. Who, me? Yes, me. They look right in my face, they want to touch me, to lift me up, they want me to do good.
Heartbreak Hill? bah, I'm already broken. Feet shrieking, stomach beginning to lock up, I notice that lousy as I feel and slow and I'm going, I start passing a lot of folks. Pale folks, turning red from the sun now. Northern folks, Canadians & Scandinavians. I'm from Texas; I remember what the sun looks like. After the Newton hills, I haven't got much left. I think I saw Allan Rube along here somewhere, when he called out "Go Dead Runner!"
Soon, another little visit from my lifelong companion, Mr. Asthma. Getting a little silly, I think "Hello, Mr. Asthma. Can you say 'Drop Dead?'" In my imagination he grins and winks while I hunt for air. It seems prudent to walk the mile 23 waterstop, and make sure I get a full cup of water down onto my seizing gut. Things are starting to blink red on the warning panel.
Much refreshed, I take off at a relatively sprightly pace and start passing people again, all the way to mile 25, where the wheels fall off one more time and another leisurely cup of water mandates itself while I walk. Then, off again, passing a very unhappy-looking Dennis Halpin, rounding the final turns, and then get stuck on the treadmill the organizers have fiendishly installed in front of the finish line. I mean, you can see the finish line for a half mile, but you run and run on this disguised treadmill thing they have under the pavement somehow, and the street seems to be going by, and you don't get any closer.
About here I heard an unmistakable voice I've known for 25 years: "Hey Dad!" There were probably 1000 dads and 3000 daughters right there, but I turned and made eye contact with Julie, who was standing with a friend and cheering me on. Then, a lurch across the finish line, and whatever it was, it's history.
Met Cary Craig and her mom, and heard about Kate's problems with the heat and her gutsy battle to the finish. The next day, the ever gracious Cary took Julie and me to lunch at a posh Newbury Street cafe, and showed us around Back Bay for awhile. She appeared none the worse for wear, and even I wasn't particularly beat up. While we rested under a giant willow tree by the Charles, I decided my iffy stomach and wheezy lungs had held me back from hammering my muscles and joints. Cary stopped off at her Mom's place, Julie caught a plane, and I took the train out to Cindy & her husband's country estate .. unsuspecting of my 4.5 mile sprint soon to come.
I think maybe two marathons in four months is too much for an old man. I'm looking forward to some light summer mileage, some 5K's and 10K's starting with Bremond in June. You know, I had a recent PR at Bremond last year and didn't even get a medal in my decrepit age group .. need to think about that.